


Camp Blood Gulch

by jelbertie



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Summer Camp AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelbertie/pseuds/jelbertie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A summer camp in the middle of a boiling hot canyon, with barely trained camp counsellors, a useless camp director and a rivalry between the red and blue factions which no one remembers beginning. This is going to be a long summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Camp

Wash didn’t belong here. He stood underneath the archway that read ‘Camp Blood Gulch,’ which was a truly awful name, repeating that mantra over and over in his head.

_You don’t belong here, you idiot, go home._

Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that. His dad would just march his ass straight back here and Wash really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Instead, he took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for twelve weeks of torture.

What he hadn’t prepared himself for was a giant labrador tackling him to the ground the moment he stepped into camp.

“What the fuck?” Wash tried to get himself free, but the dog was alarmingly strong. When the barking started to sound more aggressive, Wash froze, sure that he was about to die. Die lying in way too much dirt, covered in dog hair, in a place that he would give anything to leave. This sucked.

“Freckles!” As suddenly as he was there, the labrador leaped off Wash’s chest to bound towards the new voice. “There you are! What did I tell you about going on adventures?” The dog barked in response. “Exactly.”

As Wash stood up, he looked over at where the voice was coming from. A giant dog for a giant person, it seemed, as the boy who was probably the dog’s owner must have been at least six foot. At least. His smile was wide, his eyes scrunched up happily and his feet were firmly planted in the ground to stop ‘Freckles’ from knocking him over as well.

“Hi there.” Wash tried. If he was going to spend the whole summer here, he should just try to be civil.

“Hello!” The boy sounded far too happy. “You are new.”

“I am.”

“I have never seen you before.”

“That’s what new means.”

“My name is Micheal J Caboose.” There was a pause. “And this is my friend, Freckles.” The dog barked again in greeting.

“Hello. Freckles.” Wash didn’t that to come out strained.

“CABOOSE!” The shout came from the other side of camp. “STOP HARASSING THE NEW GUY!”

Oh great. These guys were the regulars; they all knew each other and the camp. That meant that Wash was going to stick out like a sore thumb despite only wanting to blend in.  However, after calling Caboose off, the other guy disappeared. Wasn’t in the mood for introductions, Wash could relate. Caboose gave him one last smile and bounded off, Freckles hot on his heels, and Wash was alone again.

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. This camp was nothing like he’d ever seen before. For one thing, it was in the middle of what looked like a desert canyon, the sand and dirt was going to get _everywhere_. The sound of birds could constantly be heard chirping away, and he hoped that it wouldn’t continue into the night. There wasn’t even a slight breeze, and the cabins didn’t have any sign of air conditioning. This was going to be torture.

Wash heaved his bag onto his shoulder and made his way to the noticeboard, to see where he’d been assigned. Who would be dealing with him for three months.

It was hard to believe that this place was run by the same people who ran his school.

~~~

“We’ve been here for five fucking minutes and you’ve already made a fucking mess!” Grif leaned back on his bed and listened to Simmons moan. And it wasn’t even the fun kind of moan. “Grif! Listen to me, we’re not having a repeat of last summer.”

“Why not?” He didn’t even say it because he meant it, even though he totally did, but because…

“Why not? WHY NOT? You are so fucking disgusting, what did I ever do to get stuck in the same cabin as you?” Grif opened his mouth to respond, but Simmons didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. Fucking nerd. “It’s one thing having to deal with Sarge and his constant plots to kill the blues…”

“That will never work.”

“Shut the fuck up. But to share a room with the grossest person I’ve ever met? That’s fucking unfair!” Bless him, he’d gone bright red. Suitable considering what team he was on.

“Are you done?” Grif yawned.

“Fuck you dude.”

“If you _want_ , I’m free for, like, two hours.” It was one of those moments where Grif wasn’t actually sure how serious he was being. Because it was a great joke, and one he made very often, but at the same time there could have been a slight amount of truth in that statement. Very slight. Simmons was his best friend after all it was totally natural to…

“No you’re not, we have the introductory meeting. It’s mandatory for us now, we’re camp counselors.” And then the tall ginger was rushing Grif out of the door.

“Seriously? We actually have to _do_ stuff?”

“Of course we have to do stuff. We have responsibilities now.” Simmons was pretty much dragging him along now. Woah, he was surprisingly strong. “What did you _think_ ‘camp counselor meant?”

“Sit back and watch twelve year olds make a mess with macaroni?” Grif’s comment was met with a groan.

It wasn’t a lie though. This was Grif’s sixth year at this place and he had never seen a camp counselor do more than order him to clean up, and he already had Simmons to tell him to do that. So when the position was offered to him, of course he was going to take it. He could sit back, order tiny children to clean up their messes and then order them to clean up _his_ as well. Plus it freed up some of his time for naps. It was the perfect plan.

But if it meant having to come to all of these camp meeting, assembly, talky thingies, then maybe he should have reconsidered.

“Hello dudes, welcome. Hey there, you in the front, purple shirt! I like it, nice colour on ya!” Everyone immediately went silent, even though the guy who ran this place was a piece of shit who didn’t do anything, he still got respect. “So, uh, welcome to camp dudes. Nice to have ya here. If ya need anything, talk to ya counselor. Or ya team leader. Who will be introducing themselves right now. See ya dudes.”

And he was off again. Seriously, Vic was _useless_. And yet Grif couldn’t help but admire his lack of actual work. Unfortunately that meant that he had given way too much power to…

“Listen up new dirtbags, if you wanna be successful in this place, you better join red team! And old dirtbags, switch over to red team, abandon those dirty blues. What did they ever do for you? They ate your food and killed their leader…”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME ASSMUNCH!”

“Tucker did it!”

“I was knocked out for, like, two seconds dude.”

“Join red team today! Oh, and, uh, welcome back and stuff, enjoy your summer, or whatever.” He finished his speech off in a grumble.

Yeah, Sarge wasn’t very effective in the whole ‘leader’ role. But he was all red team had, so they’d have to do. Camp Blood Gulch was split into two factions, red team and blue team. Really it just started as a way of organising chore timetables and a way of inciting some friendly competition. You pick a team when you sign up, and then are assigned to that team for your summer. It was a shitty way of doing things, it had started more fights than it had solved problems, but camp wouldn’t be camp without it. Although Sarge was definitely way too enthusiastic about it.

“Okay, so after that wonderful welcome back speech, that was fucking useless by the way no one can change teams now, I’m going to introduce you to your camp counselors.” And there was Church, it was his last year here and he was finally leading blue team after Flowers left last year. “You got me, Tucker and Caboose for Blue Team, we’ll be watching out for you and…”

“HEY CHURCH?”

“WHAT CABOOSE?!” Heh, it was always funny when Church yelled at Caboose. His voice always cracked and it never failed to make Grif laugh.

“TELL THEM ALL ABOUT THE STRAWBERRIES!”

“For God’s sake, let me fucking finish!” The twelve year olds all looked shocked. “Shit, sorry guys.” They gasped again. “I know, my language is fucking awful, what are you gonna do?” They gasped _again_.

 _Who let this guy be in charge of a load of twelve year olds?_ Grif looked over at Simmons, who was obviously thinking the same thing. When their eyes met, Simmons mouthed ‘what?’ to which Grif stuck out his tongue. He couldn’t help it, he was bored. Simmons rolled his eyes and went back to paying attention to Church and Sarge.

God Grif had missed camp.

~~~

The food in this place was pretty fucking heavenly, and Tucker had had some damn good dishes in his life. Something about the barbequed meat, the vegetables cooked in a way that wasn’t gross and the desserts that could satisfy anyone no matter the size of their sweet tooth had a way of making Tucker feel like he was floating. Good food man, nothing beats it.

“Beat it kid.” Church glared at one of the younger kids who tried to sit at their table. Then he turned back to his sheet of paper that had...something boring on it, Tucker stopped paying attention the moment he put some food in his mouth.

“Wazzat?” He asked with a mouth full of mashed potato.

“Tucker shut your goddamn mouth, you’re eating for fuck’s sake.” Church didn’t even look up. “And this is the list of assholes that we’re responsible for. Everyone on blue team this summer.”

“That is a lot of people.”

“Yeah no shit Caboose.” Tucker tried to play it cool but the only reason he agreed to do this was the extra money. He didn’t sign on for responsibility or difficulty or anything. Hell, if that was what camp was like he would have never come back.

“Nah, he’s right. There’s way too many people here for just the three of us. We need another counselor.” Church said it so nonchalantly, like they could just pluck one out of thin air. “Any ideas.”

“Yeah sure, what about all of these blues that we totally know.”

“Yeah! Like Andersmith!” Caboose contributed. Ugh, not again.

“Stop referring to Andersmith like he’s a real person.” Tucker didn’t know how many times he’d had this conversation with the guy. “I’ve already told you, you made him up.”

“Actually Tucker, we have an Andersmith right here.” Church pointed him out on the list.

“Oh fuck. Will he do?”

“Nah he’s fourteen.” Church kept looking through the list. Camp counselors had to be seventeen or over. Camp rules.

“Anyone on there who’s old enough?” He doubted it, the last time Tucker checked, they had been the oldest blues in Blood Gulch.

“Not that I can...wait…”

“What?”

“Do either of you know a…” Church tried to read the name. “Washington? What the fuck kind of a name is Washington?”

“Your girlfriend’s name is Tex.”

“Fuck off dude. Anyway, he’s the only blue old enough to be a counselor, and if we’re going to be able to control these scamps we’re gonna need him.” He said it so simply. “Either of you know him?”

“I do not know a Washingtub.”

“Yeah I can tell, dude, take a shower.” No one laughed at his joke. Dammit. “And no. That’s weird.”

The three ate their dinner and discussed their duties for the night. For about five minutes, it was really fucking boring and they could never stay on one topic for long. Still, it was decided that one of them was going to have to find this ‘Washington’ guy, and since Church never trusted Caboose to do anything other than heavy listing, that job would fall on…

“Tucker! Have fun with that one buddy.”

“I fucking hate you.”

And with that, he had to start his search. Even a glance at that list showed that blue team needed an extra person to carry some responsibility, they were desperate. They didn’t want to be stuck on dish duty all summer, which is what they were going to get if they couldn’t keep themselves organised.

“Yo, anyone here called Washington?” Tucker asked one of the tables, who responded with blank stares. Great. Just fucking great.

It took Tucker a grand total of ten minutes before he gave up and checked the noticeboard to see which cabin Washington was assigned so he could go and wait for him there. It wasn’t that hard to find him, the name he’d given the camp was uncommon, and it only took a moment before he’d been spotted. Huh? That was weird. He was in a cabin with a load of newbies.

Was Washington a newbie?

Tucker didn’t dwell on it, he didn’t pay much attention to people he didn’t know after all, it was entirely possible that Washington had just gone under his radar during any of the previous summers. Instead, he went to the cabin where he’d find the guy when dinner was over, and prepared himself to sit out on the porch for half an hour.

But the light was on in the cabin. That was odd.

Never being one for consideration or general manners, Tucker barged into the cabin with his head held high, the door swinging behind him, creaking loudly.

“Jesus Christ!” The only other guy in the room nearly jumped out of his skin. He was lying on the bed furthest away from the door, throwing a banana up in the air and catching it with his other hand. Unfortnately, he had just been shocked and the banana fell on his face.

“What are you tossing a banana for?”

“Huh?”

“Heh, tossing. Bow chicka bow wow.”

“What the…”

“Yo, do you know a guy called Washington?” It took him a moment to process the information, but then the boy sat up and faced Tucker.

“I’m Washington, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tucker decided to just give it a shot. “Wanna make an extra buck?”

“Maybe if you tell me what’s going on?”

“You don’t have to strip for it, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Yeah you were.” Washington was trying, he really was. “Look, you’re going all red. Is it from disappointment?”

“Fuck off.” He grumbled.

“ _Anyway_ , you’re the new blue team counselor.”

“What?”

“We have a meeting before breakfast tomorrow, don’t be late.” And with that, Tucker grinned at him and turned to leave.

“Wait? What? I can’t be a...this doesn’t make any sense!”

“Get used to it baby.” Tucker laughed and looked over his shoulder at the new counselor. Funny, his freckles were more pronounced when he was angry. “Welcome to camp!”


	2. Day One

Simmons was sitting back on the front deck of his cabin, watching the sun rise. The mixture of oranges and reds were so beautiful, he loved that he was one of the very few people who was awake in time to see it. He leaned back and let the peace of the moment wash over him, tried to lose himself in the tranquility.

But then the door to his cabin opened and the moment was lost.

“Hey nerd.” Grif. Simmons had missed him, not that he’d ever tell anyone that, although he could do without the stream of mess that seemed to follow him around. “Budge.”

Simmons shuffled aside so that Grif could park his ass on the deck as well. This was their typical routine here, get up early, watch the sunrise together, and then argue about nothing until everyone else woke up. It was fantastic. And such a great difference to what Simmons’s mornings were usually like.

“Hey Grif?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why we’re here?” Someone had to say it. Simmons grinned over at his friend, who laughed and bumped him with his elbow.

“You had to say it.”

“Isn’t it tradition by now?”

“No, tradition would be us singing the camp songs every morning before we’re allowed food, total bullshit by the way, but this? This is what we call an inside joke.”

“No, this has more meaning than an inside joke.”

“Jesus Simmons, you make it sound like we’ve been asking that question for years.”

“We have.” The two both came to the realisation at the same time. “Holy shit.”

“The first time you asked that was…”

“Six years ago.”

“Man, do I feel old.”

“That’s because you are old, numbnuts.”

“You’re only a month younger than me!”

“Alright, grandpa.” Grif grinned again, before stretching out on the deck like a cat, probably to try and take a nap, lazy son of a bitch. “Can you believe it’s been six fucking years?”

“Yes, because it has been you sentimental idiot.”

“Shut up, kissass.”

“Make me.” Those two words seemed to shift the mood of the whole conversation. Grif sat up again, giving Simmons a seriously strange look. They both shifted awkwardly, the tension almost as stifling as the summer heat. This kept happening, and Simmons really wasn’t sure about it. When Grif licked his lips, he couldn’t help but stare.

“Moooooorning!” The door swinging open immediately broke the mood. Grif flopped back down on the deck and groaned.

“Good morning Donut.”

“Anyone want to join me for my morning jog? I bought an extra pair of jogging shorts.” Grif flipped him off, Simmons snickered. None of this brought down the kid’s happiness. “Okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

And he was off. Donut’s morning jog was how they knew it was time for breakfast, he always left at 6am sharp. If anything was going to get Grif to move at this time in the morning it was food, but Simmons waited until he was standing up to remind him that they had a meeting. Then he had to drag him to the meeting.

Simmons had to drag Grif to a lot of places.

He didn’t mind.

~~~

This was unbelievable. Unbe-fucking-lievable. Wash had been here for the grand total of three hours, only just getting to grips with the ins and outs of this place. The unspoken rules that he would have to learn, the way the dining hall worked, the organisation of the cabins, all of it. This place was not very welcoming for new people, he’d already been told that he’d need to stock up on elbow grease; they talked to him like he was 5 years old.

And on top of all that, he had been told he was a camp counselor. A fucking camp counselor. Surely to get that role, he needed some form of experience. That was the only reason why he was going to this meeting, he was going to point blanc refuse the role. Tell them to find someone else.

He could not take camp counselor on top of all of this.

He should have just skipped out on the goddamn meeting.

Knocking should not have been scary, the guys behind that door were the same age as him. They were not intimidating, Wash dealt with scarier situations on a day to day basis, but somehow that door seemed like the most imposing thing in the world. It took longer than Wash would care to admit to finally knock.

“What was that?”  
“Was that a knock?”

“Who the fuck knocks in this place?”

Well that was promising. Wash decided to ignore what the people on the other side of this door were saying and just open it. Better to get this done quickly. Three boys in blue t-shirts, although the shades varied, looked up at him, and the guy at the head of the table immediately said,

“Who the fuck are you?” Charming really.

“I’m Washington.” The three then smiled and gestured for him to sit down. He didn’t. One of the boys Wash recognised, Caboose, looked momentarily heartbroken, but he’d just have to live with it. Because Wash wasn’t going to stay here for more than five minutes.

“Okay, rude. Sit the fuck down man.” It was the only one Wash hadn’t met before, sitting at the head of the table and glaring at him like he was a piece of shit. Wonderful. Despite the boy’s tone, he remained standing.

“I’m not a camp counselor.” Wash proclaimed instead. The three boys took a couple seconds to let the words sink in, and then laughed.

“Yeah, and Tucker had sex last week…”

“That one’s true…”

“Your hand doesn’t count, dickhead.” The guy just rolled his eyes. “Now sit down, we need to tell you what you’re doing.”

“No, I’m not doing this. I refuse.” Wash went to leave, they couldn’t make him do anything. That was within his rights…

“Okay then, we’ll just force you to check on the twelve year olds and not pay you. Actually makes it a lot easier for us, thanks man.” Jesus Christ, this was impossible. How had this happened? Last week, Wash had been in his school’s training room teaching the younger years how to fight, and now he was going to be supervising a craft session. Right? That’s what happens at camp?

Because if he had to do this, he was going to make damn sure that he was going to get paid. So he took a deep breath, or an exasperated sigh he wasn’t quite sure which, and sat down.

“What do I have to do?”

~~~

Tucker liked to think that he was good with kids. The younger guys at Camp Blood Gulch seemed to look up to him after all, and who could blame them, and he’d never been responsible for a kid starting a fire or anything. Which was possible. Especially when Grif was a camp counselor. So Tucker thought he was successful.

He was now reevaluating that assumption after watching Washington run an archery session with the younger campers. Technically they were meant to be running it together, but five minutes in and it was obvious that Tucker was useless here.

And that Washington was...not?

“Now breathe in, breathe out and release.” The kid hit the board for the first time that day and started whooping with their friends. They all took turns telling him it was ‘cool’ or ‘badass’ or any other positive verb, and Tucker just sat back and sipped on his cream soda. Why didn’t they allow any fucking beer in this place?

Still, it was nice to actually get to relax. This summer was going to be super hectic, and Tucker really needed to put his feet up. It was hard work, being him all day.

“Sessions over, Tucker!” Ugh. He had only had his feet up for, like, ten minutes and now Washington was ordering him around.

“Go ahead, I’d catch up.”

“You’re eyes are closed.” Tucker opened his eyes.

“Not true.”

Washington just sighed and started walking towards the forest. There was a clearing in there somewhere where little kids would learn hand to hand combat, there was absolutely no way that that could go wrong, which Tucker would find. Eventually. When he had the energy.

“Tucker!” Washington yelled. Tucker groaned and rubbed his ears, showing that they had been ruined. “You’re supposed to be showing me what to do!”

“Figure it out, asshole!” As he was saying it, however, Tucker was heaving himself out of the chair. Fucking new guy needed a chaperone and Church couldn’t do it because...Tucker didn’t fucking know...he was a lazy shit? Yeah that sounded right.

Church never told him anything.

As it turned out, Wash was also good at teaching kids how to beat each other up. It was actually pretty amazing to watch, one word out of the counselor’s mouth and the kids were all entranced, hanging off of his every word. That kind of respect was ridiculous, these children never treated the original reds and blues like this.

“Fucking ridiculous.” Tucker muttered from the sidelines. He was met with a few curious stares. Wash had a panicked look on his face, probably thought that they didn’t swear around the kids. Ha.

Wash's face never shifted back to it's resting position for the rest of the hand-to-hand combat session, although his normal face was pretty bitchy anyway. Not that it bothered Tucker anyway, he was used to dealing with Church who was the bitchiest little shit he'd ever met. 

“Something you’d like to share?” He asked. They were clearing up together whilst the kids ran to get the hot food from the mess hall.

“I just thought there’d be some entertaining, rookie moments. That you’d embarrass yourself and it’d be hilarious, but you didn’t.” Tucker sulked.

“Wait, you’re mad because I’m...good?”

“I didn’t put it like that.”

“You meant it like that.”

  
“No I didn’t.” Wash raised an eyebrow. “Shut up!” He laughed, and Tucker kicked him in the shin. “So how’d you get so good at this anyway?”

“This?”

“Like, teaching people how to kick each other’s asses. It looked like it came pretty naturally.” A look passed over Wash’s face, a look Tucker could only describe as haunting. “It's just that these badass skills are really going to help out with capture the flag at the weekend"

"Capture the flag?" He looked concerned.

"Yeah, it's some bullshit they use to sort out scheduling." Tucker just shrugged, not distracted from the main issue at hand. " _So_ , where'd you learn to fight and shit?" Wash's face darkened again, and he turned his back to his fellow camp counselor.

“I don’t know. Guess it comes naturally."

Tucker wanted to call bullshit so badly, but when he turned back to face Wash, he had already left for dinner.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons are very fun characters to write! Follow me on tumblr ( ravenpuffslytherdor.tumblr.com ) and thank you so much for reading!


	3. Battle plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capture the Flag is coming up and the teams need to strategise. Or try to at any rate.

“Those dirty, rotten blues! They’re trying to take the advantage, get more men, but I won’t let ‘em. We need to come up with an absolutely _diabolical_ scheme that will ensure the red team’s victory. We need to buy ourselves a giant catapult and…”

Grif tuned out whatever bullshit Sarge was firing at them today and then tried to simultaneously nap and eat the free snacks. His number one aim of the summer was to perfect this very important skill. It was going to be way more useful in his everyday life than the leader of the red team’s plan to win this week’s capture the flag.

“Grif?!” Simmons’ reprimanding voice broke him out of his reverie; when did his eyelids get so heavy?

“Yeah?”

“Have you got the notes from last year?” Simmons was pleading now. Bless him and his fucking father complex which made him do actual work. What a nerd.

“Have _you_ got the notes from last year?” Grif shot back. He had a faint sense of the tension in the room, but he couldn’t be bothered to focus on it. He’d focus on Simmons instead. Simmons, who was turning a shade of red that, before this moment, Grif thought impossible for the human face to reach.

“That was _your_ fucking job!”

“Really? I thought my job was show up and get out of my mom’s hair.” 

“Shut up fatass, this was your responsibility!”

“Oh boo hoo, now we won’t remember what our idiotic meetings were about last year when we have idiotic meetings this year, however will we fucking cope?”

Sarge slammed the table and the two boys stopped arguing immediately, all attention back to their leader.

“You boys quit yer bitchin’” He grumbled. “Now Grif, I expected this kind of insubordination, so I devised a particularly cruel form of punishment for ya.”

“I’m gonna get thrown out the catapult aren’t I?” Grif sighed. This always happened, Sarge came up with some weird plan to defeat the blues that involved maximum danger for Grif. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Indeedy, we’re going to throw you directly in the blues line of fire. Not only will your body absorb all of the bullets, but if you aim to land on a few of those rotten blues then they’ll be knocked out, possibly killed!”

“ _Or_ ,” Grif interjected, since he enjoyed, you know, living. “We just do what we always do.”

“And what’s that, genius?”

“Stand around and talk?” He looked around the room. The only face that looked even mildly happy was Donut, who was scribbling down the notes from this meeting as if any of them had said anything even remotely worthwhile. “Napping is also a viable option.”

“That’s the same as giving up!” Sarge cried, as though giving up wasn’t the best plan they had. “What we need to do, on top of the firing-Grif-out-of-the-catapult thing, is order in some special bullets. Ones that shoot fire, and spikes, and sharks simultaneously! Ones that home in on anything blue!”

Grif leaned over to Simmons and murmured, “He does realise we fight with paintballs, right?”

“Dude, shut up.” Grif sighed and let his mind go blank again.

“The blues will never know what hit ‘em.”

~~~

“Hey fuckers!” Church grinned down at blue team, and Tucker just rolled his eyes, already ready for this meeting to be over. “What’s the scoop?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you sound like a dad trying to be cool.”

“Shut up Tucker, or I’ll make you cover arts and crafts…”

“Eh, it’s not so bad.” Tucker shrugged, but Church responded with an evil smile.

“With Caboose.”

"You wouldn't!"

“Caboose? That’s me!” Tucker ignored him.

“You can’t do this to me, I thought we were friends.”

Church was grinning again. Asshole.

“We need capture the flag plans, guys. You know how happy blue team gets when we win, and happy excited children means that they’ll be more willing to do what we ask them to do.” Tucker rolled his eyes, he wasn't going to buy in to Church's bullshit today. “Like clean all our stuff.”

“Is that seriously how this place works?” Washington asked from the corner. It was so strange how quickly he’d settled down here, Tucker didn’t know how he’d done it. Still, that by no means meant that the guy had opened up or anything, he still hadn’t shared fuck all about his life. Not that Tucker cared, as long as he made sure only to make the _non_ camp counselors run the obstacle course.

“Yeah huh.” Caboose started. Oh this was going to be good. “We get to shoot each other, and fight each other, and steal the flag from each other and the people who do that the best get to have extra ice cream! And they don’t have to do cleaning duty. And they get a parade with lots of confetti, and they get a dog…” Outside the door, Freckles barked. “And they get some treasure, and a piece of paper, and a rock…”

Washington looked confused.

“Seriously?”

“No dumbass, Church just tells Caboose all this stuff so he’ll get involved.” Tucker explained, leaning back on his chair. “And come on, Church, we don’t need to worry about anything. Except picking up chicks.”

“Tucker,” Church sighed. “Stop that. I had enough of it last year.”

“You can never have enough chicks.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“That’s what…”

“I swear to God Tucker, finish that sentence and I am going to ram this pencil so far up your asshole you’ll be tasting lead for a week!”

The group fell silent almost immediately. At least this meeting was more productive than any of the one’s from last summer. Tucker thought he deserved extra servings of dessert just for that.

“Now, if you can stop interrupting me for more than five fucking minutes…”

“Hey Church? What does...”

The ranting lasted for a long time. Church didn’t really understand how to be ‘quiet’ when he was angry, and whenever Caboose interrupted him he usually got angry. But hey, as long as you brought earplugs, it could actually be kind of funny. Even Caboose was smiling, but really that kid smiled whenever Church directed his attention to him so that wasn’t really a big deal.

Washington, however, looked annoyed.

“Aren’t we meant to be strategizing for capture the flag?” He asked Tucker at the five minute mark.

“Oh come on, like we’re actually gonna do that.” Wash raised an eyebrow. “Dude, that takes effort, and cooperation and all that bullshit. We’re not gonna be able to plan and shit. Besides, it’s a lot cooler just to wing it.”

“No, that’s just a surefire way to make sure we lose.” Oh crap, he was scowling.

“Are you actually taking this seriously?”

“Am I not meant to?”

“No, dude, relax.”

“Doesn’t the whole camp get involved? Aren’t we, oh I don’t know, _responsible_ for them?” Wow, Wash’s angry voice could rival Church’s in hilarity. At least he knew to keep it down, Tucker didn't really want the blue team leader's attention focused on him right now.

“What? No, it’s just us.” Wash looked confused. “It’s the blue team counselors versus the red team counselors, and whichever team loses is responsible for camp cleanup for the next week.”

It was a fucked up system, but Tucker wasn’t going to try and change it. That would involve, once again, effort and who the fuck had time for that?

“Doesn’t that create resentment or…”

“Oh yeah, the camp counselors are some of the most hated people in this place.” Or, at least, they are if your team loses.

Wash just sighed, and leaned back in his chair. That poor boy looked so annoyed. He really needed to stop giving a fuck, but Tucker’s threshold for effort didn’t even stretch far enough to explain that to him. Instead he just sat back and watched the last few minutes of Church’s rant.

~~~

Simmons read over the plans again, trying to make sure they stayed in his head. It was very complicated, way too dependent on sharks and also pretty much impossible, but he still dedicated it to his memory. Maybe it would make Sarge proud.

“Hey kissass, what are you doing?” Grif sat up from his bed groggily, just woken up from a nap.

“Going over the plans. You should too, you don’t want to have no clue what you’re doing out there.” He offered Grif the notes that Donut had taken during the meeting, but it was ignored.

“That sounds dumb.” He yawned.

“Oh yeah? You got a better plan?”

“Yeah.” Grif tossed the paper aside and grabbed Simmons’ hand instead. “Let’s go get some snacks.”

Before he realised it, Simmons was being dragged out of his cabin. Grif was surprisingly strong, especially when he was motivated by food. Since this was motivated by snacks it was obvious that nothing could be done to change Grif's mind. However, Simmons still tried.

“But dinner’s not for another couple of hours!”

“Yeah, but there’s always food in the kitchen.”

“We can’t steal food!”

“It’s not stealing. We’re going to get it for free later anyway, why not just get it now?” Grif was grinning, like he’d come up with the best fucking plan in the world.

“Because that’s against the rules.”

“Screw the rules, I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

"Which is why we should always screw the rules."

By this point, they’d made it to the kitchens. Simmons could smell the sweet aroma of something baking, they must be making some sort of pastry, tart thing available tonight and if it tasted anything like how it smelled it was going to be amazing. But he wasn’t going to steal some. No way. Not happening.

“Why did you bring me along?” Simmons asked, trying to edge away. Unfortunately, Grif was still holding his hand.

“Huh?”

“You never take anyone with you when you’re snacking. You eat it all by yourself.” Simmons wasn’t even sure how he knew this, he just did.

“Well maybe I want to share this time. Didn’t think of that did you?”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay so maybe I’m banned from the kitchens and they’d skin me alive if they caught me.” Grif quickly opened the door and shoved Simmons inside. “Now go! Get something good.”

“Fuck you.”

“Dude, get some oreos.”

“Get your own fucking…” The door was shut before Simmons could finish his sentence. Typical. All he wanted to do was reread the capture the flag plans and possibly try and sneak into the main cabin so he could spend a few hours on Vic’s computer, but no. He was stuck here on a kitchen raid because Grif was too chicken to come himself.

Fucking great.

Well, he might as well try now that he was here. Simmons pocketed some oreos and then made a beeline for the strawberry tarts that were fresh out of the oven. Grif definitely owed him for this one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was fun! I'd love to tell you that I'm going to be prompt with updates and that I won't leave you hanging very long, but my track record isn't very good. But I loved this au and needed to write it, hope you enjoyed!


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